


Contaminate

by sage_thrasher



Series: Health and Wellness (The Sanitize Universe) [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Drama, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Medicine, Mentions of canon-typical violence, Multi, OC character death is alluded to or happens, Self-Insert, Sibling Bonding, Side Story, Warring States Period (Naruto), oc-insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22942177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sage_thrasher/pseuds/sage_thrasher
Summary: Deleted scenes and side stories from the Sanitize universe.
Relationships: OC/OC, Senju Hashirama & Uchiha Madara, The shipping one-shots have not (yet) been posted
Series: Health and Wellness (The Sanitize Universe) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648777
Comments: 61
Kudos: 645





	1. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a scene that takes place between the second-to-last and last scene of Chapter 6. If you would like to read it on tumblr: https://sage-thrasher.tumblr.com/post/170180056841/another-bonus-scene-for-sanitize

The ragtag group that made the militia all cheered. No one else in the village had gotten hurt; it was an overwhelming victory on all levels. The brewer had given them a round of drinks on the house, and the entire village gathered around to congratulate them. Yui, Sen, and Eiji were there, too, though only Sen had grabbed himself a drink. (“After cleaning that mess, I need one,” he’d grumbled.) The merchant from the Land of Earth was there, too, with the thick, maintained beard typical of those north-westerners. His ninja guards were from Fire Country, though; their eyes were a strange milky white she’d seen once before on a shinobi.

The cheering of the militia turned to mumbles and jeering, and Yui glanced at the men. Sen and Eiji stopped their conversation about the fight to do the same. Hiroshi, pale and wan, was making his way to their table. He should’ve been at home, resting after that injury, but it was futile to suggest that. Sen gave him the stinkeye, but Yui doubted it was out of doctoral concern.

“H-Healer…” mumbled Hiroshi, the ear not covered by bandages turning red “Could I… could we, erm… dance?”

Yui looked around. There was no music nor was anyone else dancing. The militia burst into laughter, and she understood.

“I’d rather not,” she said with a polite smile. “But I can buy you and your friends a round.”

Blushing, he stammered something that sounded like agreement. Hiroshi headed back to his table and was greeted with cheers and pats on the back. Sen sneered at them, scowling more as their laughter increased.

“You need a strong man, sis.” Sen shook his head. “A smart one, too.”

Both she and Eiji stared at him. “Have you joined Ma on her quest?” asked Yui mildly.

He flushed. “No, not like that… you’re too good for anyone here.” His tone quickly turned indignant. “But you’re also too nice! You need someone to stand up for you, someone strong and smart and nice who treats you right!”

“And has handsome face, a lordship, and ten phoenixes,” added Eiji.

“Shut up!” Sen gave his fellow apprentice a look. “I still have a point.”

With a huff, Eiji conceded. “Yui-sensei is a bit too nice sometimes. People take advantage of that.”

“Yeah! And since she doesn’t have a man to do it, we’ll have to do it for her! Watch out for her!”

“To be fair, she does a pretty good job of that.” Eiji smirked.

Sen tilted his head. “Yeah, maybe.”

Yui ruffled their heads, something she hadn’t done for a while. “You boys are sweet. I really don’t need anyone else, y'know? Not when my apprentices are looking out for me.”

They both blushed. “You got it,” mumbled Sen.

The militia cheered again, chanting Ikuro’s name as they waived the crossbows in the air. Yui, her apprentices, and the other villagers celebrated for the rest of the night, intoxicated on alcohol and the feeling of finally controlling their own fate.


	2. Decay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a side story for Sanitize, and it takes place after Chapter 8. It contains spoilers, and it won’t make any sense unless you’re caught up. This is more of a… what if? It has no link to the story canon. Is this actually what happened? That’s up to you. But I wanted to write it, so I did. 
> 
> If you would like to read it on tumblr, where it was first posted: https://sage-thrasher.tumblr.com/post/175083629766/extra-sanitize-and-sens-story

Sebastian didn’t like his name. It felt like a shirt that didn’t fit, pinching under the arms, tight in the wrong places and loose in the others. He was six when he told his parents that he wanted to be called only by his nickname—Seb. It still wasn’t right. There was a sound that didn’t fit. But it was closer, much closer, and easy to ignore.

His parents indulged him. They usually did. He was a surprise baby born to an older couple who’d long given up on their dreams for children. (Seb didn’t know why being an only child made him so sad. He felt like there was a hole in his family; he always expected soft smiles and chattering and sharing things he’d never have to share.)

Seb knew he was lucky. His parents were upper-middle class, one a lawyer and the other an engineer. They loved, if not spoiled him, providing everything he’d ever needed or wanted. So why did he hate wasting food and throwing things away? Why was he so frugal, storing his allowance like it could be taken away any minute? (Why did he have these dreams?)

In school, he knew things that other kids didn’t. Seb had to learn the alphabet with the other kids, he had to read the history textbooks and study, but things came easier for him. Part of it was his parents, both who spent hours helping him learn, but some of it, he couldn’t explain. When he saw a dandelion, he didn’t want to make a wish. He didn’t admire the flower. Seb instead thought _inflammation and liver problems._

Still, he was happy. Seb liked people, he liked talking to them and making friends, he liked basketball and video games and bad science fiction, and he liked to learn. He went through elementary and middle school as a gifted, social child, one who almost everybody liked.

(Sometimes, he’d pick up a printed book and marvel at how flawless it was. Sometimes, he’d look at a car or a computer and part of him would dismiss it like a normal teenager, and other times he’d stare, thinking it was magic.)

When Seb started 9th grade in a decent private school, one of the requirements was taking a foreign language. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he chose Japanese. Any of the other options—Spanish, French, Chinese, Latin—would be more practical. But something tugged at him to do it, so he did. His intuition was rarely wrong.

When Seb sat down in his first class and somehow knew the letters and words for a language he’d never heard before, he began to remember. Nothing concrete, nothing that made sense, but he remembered.

The next day, he started a garden.

The day after that, he decided to become a doctor.

Seb worked hard, in school and in his garden. He threw himself into academics with the same stubbornness he used to pull up weeds or argue with his friends. Seb was still a regular teen. He flirted with girls, went to homecoming and parties and football games. But everyone, his parents and teachers and friends, knew something was different.

He had a sense of focus, a sense of grounding and understanding that made no sense for a rich teenager to have. (Why would someone like Seb know how to splint a broken leg with a stick and a shirt without first aid training? How could he speak Japanese so well? Why did his eyes become unfocused because of the strangest things?)

In college, he majored in plant science and took all the classes he needed for medical school. When he took medicinal botany, he fell in love again, and he knew he was doing the right thing. When Seb volunteered in hospitals, shadowing and writing notes, some procedures rung a faint bell. His favorite place to observe was the ER, a place where that feeling of half-remembrance was the strongest.

He applied in his junior year and was quickly accepted into multiple programs. He picked the one with a focus on emergency medicine. Med school was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. (One of, because the dreams of holding a dying child and being unable to save her still made him wake up in cold sweats.) His fellow students joked and marveled about his steady hand in the practicals, telling him that he should become a surgeon. His professors had said so too, but Seb knew his calling.

As soon as he was able, after graduation and exams and residency, Seb joined a nonprofit and left straight to rural health clinic in the middle of nowhere.

It felt like home.

He had two colleagues: Reid, a dark-skinned Briton with Jamaican heritage, and Akari, a sharp-tongued Japanese woman. They helped him man the desk, deliver babies, conduct surgeries, drive ambulances, and everything else. The three of them had to do everything, and Seb had never felt happier or more fulfilled. Sure, the internet was spotty, he got homesick for his family, and he always had a real craving for french fries, but this was what he’d always wanted to do. It never disappointed.

The first time Seb spoke to Akari in Japanese, it had been an accident. She’d mumbled and cursed to herself after their failing ultrasound machine broke again. “ _Stupid piece of trash. Why do we even bother fixing it?”_

“ _Ye, ‘tis more suited for waste heap, yet mayhap it be better than none,”_ he’d replied without thinking.

Startled, Akari had stared at him for several seconds, expression changing to mortification as she tried to remember all the other times she’d spoken Japanese in front of him. Her first question was then “You speak Japanese? Since when?” which was followed quickly by “You speak Japanese like _that?”_

“What do you mean?”

“Your Japanese sounds… old, like a thing from a period drama. As if you were a peasant for a samurai or lord,” she said, laughing. “But it is very good,” she quickly added. “Almost flawless. Did you learn from TV?”

He shrugged and hummed noncommittally, letting her draw her own conclusions. Akari took his agreement at face value, But, after a moment, she said, “Would you like me to teach you? How to speak more normally?”

Seb squashed down the instinctive feeling of ‘ _I already speak normally!’_ and instead smiled. “I’d like that.”

After that, their friendship became something more. Japanese lessons became long conversations. Their brief moments of free time in the clinic were spent entirely with each other. It got to a point that their patients would giggle, asking if they should call a priest or gather flowers. Even their colleague Reid had begun to crack jokes, even complaining that the lovebirds made him homesick for his own boyfriend.

Well. They weren’t wrong. Akari and Seb _did_ end up married, after a hopelessly long and oblivious infatuation from both sides, after fumbling dates and growing love and an even more awkward simultaneous proposal. Reid was his best man, and his speech was long and embarrassing and the funniest thing that Seb had ever heard. Everyone cried at least once, including Seb’s parents, Akari, _her_ parents (though her father tried to hide it during his stilted speech) and Seb himself. It was one of the happiest moments of his life.

(Yet, even at the wedding, he could hear that same voice whispering: _You’re twice as old as you were then. You spent twice as long on this world. Why won’t you let go?)_

Akari and Seb had decided on two children. Based on the results of a coin toss, the first child would have a Japanese first name and an English middle one, and the second would have the reverse. As they flipped through page after page of baby names, scrolled through page after page, they couldn’t quite find a first name that fit both their tastes. The middle name would be Madison, for no reason besides they liked how it sounded. 

It was during another session of name-searching that his wife had asked, “What do you think of Yui?”

It felt like someone had grabbed his heart and squeezed it.

“Seb?”

“Yui?” he managed to say. 

“Yes. I like how it flows, don’t you?”

He walked over, heart pounding, and wrapped his arms around Akari. “How is it spelled?”

“In English, it’d look like this,” she highlighted the letters on the screen, “but there are many kanji combinations that could be used for Yui.”

She scrolled down, showing him each one. One in particular caught his eye, with the symbols for _only_ and _robe_. Something warm and kind and unbelievably sad enveloped him, and he could hear a voice whisper: _It will be better._

He shook his head slowly. “How about this spelling?” he said, pointing at the one below it. _Ties,_ it read. The ties that bind one person to another. One world to the next.

“I like it!” Akari grinned at him, and Seb kissed the top of her head.

When their daughter was born, when Seb sat next to his exhausted and adoring wife, when he held the little wrinkled baby who cried defiantly to the world…

“Yui,” he murmured, and he smiled through his tears.

 _It will be better_.

And it was.


	3. Chemical Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here’s 1.5k words of outsider POV: a hobbyist chemist/physicist meets Yui. Science results. It’s basically indulgent fluff I wrote for no reason besides, well… indulgence. Sparked by the thought that our knowledge of physics and chemistry has grown so much… people and science are pretty wonderful. Takes place in no specific time. 
> 
> If you would like to read it on tumblr: https://sage-thrasher.tumblr.com/post/184589255541/extra-sanitize-and-outsider-povs-chemical

Being wealthy and charismatic meant that Haru Watanabe was called ‘eccentric.’ He was also a middle-aged man with three children and a doting wife, the owner of a thriving spice business—mostly ran by the aforementioned wife—and a self-described scholar with a surprising amount of perceptiveness. Basically, Haru did everything else right so that he could get away with doing some things wrong.

(The first sin in question: throwing himself headfirst into physics and chemistry despite having enough money to pursue respectable subjects like history, politics, literature, or historical political literature.)

Haru had people who could do the tiresome but necessary business of actually bringing the goods from one place to another. Unfortunately, there did come times where he had to make the trek in person, generally when it involved a noble personage of one dinky plot or another who got delusions of grandeur. Haru would then kiss his wife and children, board the caravan, and head to woo the noble who was choking his trade routes. This time, he was with a scribe, a servant, and two hired Sarutobi guards.

(The greater sin: blabbing about his scientific interests with everyone who had the slightest amount of interest, which in Haru’s world, was the equivalent of looking in his direction.)

He’d talked his associates’s ears off during the journey there, and on the way back, both his employees were resigned to hearing his newest ideas–his scribe knew it by heart. Though the younger ninja had been interested at first, now the two Sarutobi were staring into the distance with glazed eyes.

(The final sin: making sure that he walked his hostage audience through the concepts in question until they understood it instead of blabbing without input, denying said audience the luxury of entirely tuning it out.)

So when Haru stopped in Chiyuku to pay the necessary pilgrimage to Healer Yui’s residence, he of course took her offer of tea as an invitation to speak about his newest pet theory. Haru hadn’t met with her personally before, having never been down this route himself, but he and every merchant with business on this side of the country knew about her. And Haru especially knew of her reputation for sharing knowledge. Was it likely that she knew anything about his interests? No, but that had never stopped him before.

“I have a great interest in science,” he began, smiling.

She didn’t pause in the middle of bandaging—the younger Sarutobi was lightly burned, but only because he’d practiced some sort of ninja technique above his skill levels, much to the exasperation of the older one—but she looked up.

“Is that so?” Yui was perfectly polite. “What kind of sciences?”

“Oh, physics and chemistry, mainly.” He let his smile grow brighter. “The very big and very small, the planets and the atoms.”

There was a glint of genuine interest now, even as she said, “Give me a minute, please.” Haru was content to wait as she gave the ninja instructions, washed her hands, poured herself a cup of tea, and took a seat across from him. “You’re a scholar in both subjects?”

Her voice was the mix of a rustic drawl and clipped enunciation that educated rural folk tended to have, and Haru could detect traces of other accents, likely picked up from all the travelers that came through Chiyuku.

(Again, he wasn’t a bad merchant. He was a rather excellent one, though his wife was the exceptional half. Haru was well-versed in the art of sizing someone up.)

“I am!” Haru sipped his tea and was pleasantly surprised by its mellow flavor. He’d had worse tea in fancier places. “Are you aware of the elements of matter?” Before he could start his theory, he needed to gauge her current knowledge.

It wasn’t quite a non-sequitur, but Yui took the small leap between topics in stride. “Yes. Carbon, nitrogen…” She hesitated. “I have the periodic chart of elements. A colleague of mine gave me some books with them.”

HHaru’s interest was piqued. “Did he?” He reevaluated her and took a different tack. “As you might be aware, we can put some elements together and create new ones. Organics from organics and inorganics from like. Not one from the other, and some combinations of elements won’t combine at all. Why do you think so?”

And so began a conversation like none other that Haru had participated in, beyond his wildest dreams. (A virtue: Haru could talk and talk and talk, but he could also listen. With colleagues and scholars—and his brilliant, incredible wife—he could sit spellbound for hours, with little to say but “Please, continue!”)

He kept asking why, why, and she kept answering. Yui spoke about the shape of atoms and the charged pieces that made up them. She spoke about the bonds between elements and the shape of those bonds, all connected by little electric pieces of matter that orbited around them. Finally, he asked about the interactions of magnets and forces, about the minutiae of why some elements had so many electric bits, why the shells around each center were numbered the way they were.

“I’ve…” she paused. “ I don’t really know. This is all a guess, anyway,” she added. “None of this will be proved for decades.” Yui cleared her throat, gone hoarse with talking, and she sipped her tea.

By now, the sun had dipped from its high point to begin its journey downwards. Haru’s guard took the opportunity to hazard a reminder: “Perhaps it would be best to continue—”

“Thank you, Sarutobi-san,” interrupted Haru. “I think we shall stay sometime longer, if it suits the esteemed healer.”

Yui seemed torn, having clearly enjoyed a conversation with someone who not only followed along but also hadn’t questioned her authority. “I wouldn’t want to keep you…”

“No, not at all!” He waved her concerns aside. “Now, you were talking about proof? How would you prove this?” Haru took care to keep his voice eager and curious, letting no suggestion of incredulity or accusation color his voice. He knew how easy it was to dismiss a woman’s knowledge, intentionally or not. Why, his own darling wife needed him as a frontman to manage the business, as silly as that was—she was better than he ever could be.

With a hesitant smile, Yui began to describe a series of fantastical devices: microscopes that used electric pieces, machines that spun bits of matter fast enough to tear them open, and lightning that could split bonded compounds in two.

Haru listened eagerly, soaking up as much knowledge as he could. His ability to listen, his experience, and his surprisingly deep well of common sense gave him a fine-tuned nonsense detector. And yet, her words didn’t set it off, likely because they made sense. Likely because she admitted freely how she couldn’t prove any of it, that this was baseless speculation.

(It didn’t feel like it.)

“What about chakra? Where does this fit in?”

The two ninja, alternatively bored out of their minds and surprisingly keen to listen, perked up at Haru’s question.

And to his ongoing surprise, she laughed. “I have absolutely no idea.” Yui leaned back in her chair, taking another sip. “An energy source from another universe? A force we don’t understand? Who knows. All I know is that it seems to break all laws of the natural world.”

Haru mirrored her body language, leaning back as well. “And you know how to use it.”

“I do, but I don’t understand it.”

He made a contemplative sound. Haru liked knowing things, and Yui had done him an enormous favor by sharing. Then again, he liked knowing things, and she… was a mystery. For not the first time this journey, Haru wished that his wife was with him. She would know what to say. (Another flaw: his stubbornness, his refusal to let anything go when it caught his interest…)

“Is your knowledge supernatural?”

(… and the bluntness that resulted from it.)

This time, everyone stared at him.

Yui blinked, a mix of shock, horror, and annoyance displayed in her creasing forehead.

Haru blinked back, suddenly aware that this faux pas was inexcusable, even for him. “Anyway,” he said, moving the conversation on before it lingered like a carelessly lit firecracker between them, “I must thank you sincerely for indulging me. As a token of appreciation…”

Haru opened the bag that he had carried with him, full of physics and chemistry books that he had planned on going over with the healer—before she’d blown away every preconception and filled his minds with theories in no book before her. He chewed his lip, considering the titles, and finally picked out the one that had the most similar and detailed analysis to what she’d told him. It was mostly a comparison of elemental properties and compounds, but… Haru had noticed that despite her detailed knowledge, she’d made up many of the words for the esoteric parts of her masterful theory.

“Here,” he said, placing the book on the table. “If you want any others in my bag, do let me know. And if it pleases you, I can send you any book on any topic you desire, if you promise to share me more of your wonderful theories.” He undercut his statement with a bright smile, trying to convey that he meant it as a friend—or at least a friendly acquaintance.

Yui gave him a careful smile back, though her openness had shuttered with his blundered statement. “I’d like that,” she said.

And just like that, Haru had another puzzle he knew he had to solve: the source of her knowledge.


	4. These Small Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The winner of the Discord vote was a Tsubaki/Hatake one-shot! Here’s the quick 900 word short with Tsubaki, Hatake, Emigiku, and Shikari. Enjoy! 
> 
> The discord can be joined through the link: discord.gg/wNncyM4
> 
> If you would like to read the side story on tumblr: https://sage-thrasher.tumblr.com/post/187503355986/extra-tsubakihatake-these-small-hours

  
Convincing the prickly Wind Country artist to create Lord Oshiro’s glass monstrosity wasn’t as difficult as transporting the unwieldy sculpture across two countries. Tsubaki wouldn’t have bothered if it weren’t for the truly ridiculous payment, even with the artist’s cut.

She glanced at Rui, and though she knew that the Hatake was equally relieved, not a hint of it showed on the shinobi’s face.

“Perhaps we could visit that tea house,” Tsubaki murmured to him. “We both deserve a break.”

Rui glanced at her, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The journey had been harder on him, having to defend her and the delicate artwork. Just as fast, his eyes snapped back to the hallway, and his arm relaxed by his waist, an innocuous gesture—if you didn’t know about the hidden knife.

It was just a gaggle of noble ladies. Tsubaki shook her head and stepped aside for the nobles, amused at his constant paranoia. The ladies were all second rate, by the look of it: unfavored concubines and fourth daughters. She idly categorized their fashions and patterns, making note of trends and colors. The layered wave pattern was ‘in’ again, and so was green. Tsubaki connected that to certain political trends, warlords and aspiring daimyos whose colors were the same—until she glanced at a woman in the back of the pack.

She was stunning, in every sense of the world. Black, silky hair with an undertone of blue, made all-the-more striking by the icy shade of her eyes. The woman briefly met her gaze and looked away, disinterested, but Tsubaki almost stepped back with shock. 

That woman was a ninja.

They’d met briefly, but Tsubaki was unlikely to forget their introduction. Emigiku—a geisha’s name, and if it wasn’t a fake one, she’d eat that sculpture—was the blonde kunoichi who’d burst into Yui’s clinic and interrupted their tea. 

Tsubaki looked wide-eyed at him, and he gave her the slightest of nods. Of course, Rui had recognized her before she had. Maybe he was right to be paranoid.

* * *

They were both indulging in takoyaki on the street when the kunoichi slid into the seat beside Rui. He immediately stood up, angling himself in front of Tsubaki. 

“Oh, calm down, Hatake,” purred the other ninja. “I picked the empty seat next to you for a reason.” 

She was blonde again, with only the faintest hints of makeup. Her yukata was simple (though still wave patterned), and she fit in perfectly with every other middle-class city dweller. Well, almost perfectly. The look in her eyes was too sharp to be anything but predatory.

“Emigiku, wasn’t it?” Tsubaki gave her the neutral smile she reserved for new clients. “We’ve met before.”

“You can certainly call me that,” she said, amused. “But ‘Emi’ might be less of a mouthful.” Emi met Rui’s gaze, and her smile grew. “Is it really so hard to believe that I have no ill intentions?”

“Not a chance, Yamanaka.” His voice was low, edging into a growl. “You let us know you were here.”

Immediately, she blushed a deep, deep red and pressed her hands to her cheeks. (Tsubaki was rather impressed at how natural it looked.) “My, my, you have this all wrong!” Emi looked like nothing more than a bashful, naive woman, embarrassed by the misunderstanding. She straightened, and the act disappeared. “No, really. I don’t normally work in this area, so I didn’t try as hard to hide myself. Serves me right for being careless.” 

Tsubaki would say that Emi’s sheepish smile looked genuine, but so had everything else. 

“Mika, who are your friends?” A tall, scarred man sauntered to the counter, only to freeze upon seeing Rui.

The kunoichi laughed. “They know me as Emi, actually.”

Rui’s hand settled on his hilt. “You aren’t convincing me of your goodwill,” he said, quiet. 

The other shinobi stared at him and then Emi. “Goddamnit, Mika. What the hell are you doing? We were–what–” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “Alright, let’s go.”

“What do you want, Nara?” Rui stepped forward.

“Well, right now, I want to leave.”

Tsubaki finished her food and cleared her throat. “As entertaining as this all is, I think we can all relax a bit. Are you two going to order something?”

The three ninja glanced at her. Rui continued to look grim, but she knew that crinkle of exasperation by his eyes. The Nara, as Rui had called him, seemed ten seconds away from spontaneously combusting with irritation. 

Emi’s sly grin hadn’t changed. “Yes, Hatake, listen to your…” she paused, “employer. Yes, your employer. I simply wanted to say hi and,” her voice slipped into a rural twang, “grab some food.”

“You said hi,” ground out the Nara. “We can get food somewhere else. Let’s go.”

She sighed and stretched, twisting her body innocently–and both the Nara and Rui’s eyes followed her movement involuntarily. (So did Tsubaki’s.) “I think I’ll stay here.”

“In that case, I suggest the takoyaki,” Tsubaki said.

Emi raised an eyebrow. “You suggest the takoyaki… at a takoyaki stand.”

Tsubaki gave her most sale-closing smile. “Absolutely.”

For a moment, she was faced with the full force of Emi’s scrutiny. Her intensity didn’t lesson, but Emi’s smile broke through like the sun after a monsoon, and Tsubaki knew that men and women had fallen in love for less.

(But I, thought Tsubaki, trying not to look at Rui, have fallen in love for more.)

“I’d love to have some takoyaki,” Emi said, soft. “Would you join me, Kari?”

The Nara hesitated only for a moment before taking the seat next to his associate. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Rui was the last to sit down, but when he did, it was with a brush of his fingers against her wrist.


	5. Impropriety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was the extra that won the Discord vote: “An outside POV of Yui’s clinic, from the perspective of a merchant who is constantly scandalized by all the impropriety going on in Chiyuku and surprised at what the village considers normal.” It’s a little after the events of Chapter Twelve. Enjoy!
> 
> Link to the tumblr post: https://sage-thrasher.tumblr.com/post/190953249306/extra-sanitize-and-a-scandalized-outsider

Usaku Kobayashi heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the town of Chiyuku in the distance. Despite his travels, Usaku had never been to this side of Fire Country, and it seemed shockingly undeveloped compared to the northeastern provinces. 

“Finally,” he groused. 

The ninja walking alongside their caravan tilted his head in agreement–though Usaku was beginning to suspect that it was amusement. They’d hired an escort from the Hyuuga clan, one of the few clans of ninja that actually had things like manners, but the downside was their eerie eyes and habits. The Hyuuga never even turned to look at them, but he seemed to know everything that went on around them–and had a need to comment on it. (That was exactly what they needed, a defective chatty Hyuuga.)

“Brother, aren’t you excited, though? This is all so novel!” Natsuki tried to lean out to see, but Usaku instinctively shielded her from prying eyes. His sister’s enthusiasm, unlike his, hadn’t flagged at all. Perhaps that was to be expected. This was her first time out of their estate. 

Well. ‘Estate.’ They barely had more than a title to their name, thanks to their father and grandfather. It was only Usaku’s dirty merchant dealings that gave them enough wealth to hire more than three servants–and arrange Natsuki’s match. 

That was the whole reason they were traveling. Lord Hirohota, his sister’s fiance, had requested to meet Natsuki ahead of the wedding party. Which was… odd, perhaps concerningly progressive, but he was, frankly, a much better match than Usaku had expected. It wasn’t like they could say no.

“We should rest at Chiyuku for a night,” said Hyuuga in his disconcertingly soft voice. 

“Yes, we all need a rest!” Natsuki agreed. “Oh, it would be so nice to sleep in a bed again, though it was just as interesting to sleep in the caravan!”

Usaku scowled, and Natsuki drew back, abashed. It was a little uncouth for a woman to speak about her sleeping habits, and she knew he didn’t like her talking to the ninja. Their kind might be a necessity, especially in these uncivilized parts, but a well-bred lady didn’t need to associate with them. 

Still, he had a point. “We will rest.” Not that Hyuuga looked like he needed it. 

“We can procure some medicine for your knee, also,” Hyuuga continued. “I recall you also mentioning some interest in the medicine trade of these parts. Lord Hirohota has some stake in it, I believe.”

Usaku didn’t scowl again, but he did press his lips together. He didn’t appreciate the reminder of his rather embarrassing injury–he’d tripped when stepping off the caravan and landed badly. 

_The best ninja_ , his father had said, on the rare occasion he wasn’t drunk, _are like furniture_. _You forget they’re there until you need them._ This Hyuuga was the bad kind of furniture. Forgettable, until you tripped right over him when he opened his mouth and reminded you. Frequently.

… perhaps that hadn’t been the best analogy. 

Regardless, the ninja volunteered his opinion far more than he should. Which was at all. As Usaku mused over whether he could bargain for a refund, or at least a discount, his party quickly got situated at one of their inns. It was acceptable, though barely so. Everything was… quaint, and rural.

Somewhere along the line, Natsuki wheedled her way into accompanying Usaku to the healer. He would much prefer her staying in the room with her maid, but he supposed he could allow her this. (He would miss her. His sweet sister was being married off to a lord four weeks away, and soon letters would be their only mode of contact.)

“This is the healer’s place?” Usaku raised his eyebrows. 

“Indeed,” the ninja confirmed.

As they waited to be allowed entry, Usaku realized there was something different about the clinic’s construction, something about the wood… it looked almost seamless. Usaku didn’t know much about this healer (other than him being shockingly effective), but he must have been better than expected to afford something like this. 

Usaku noted signs of more construction around them; foundations of new buildings were scattered like weeds. This town was growing, then. Perhaps it would be a wise investment. 

The door opened. A tanned peasant woman smiled at them, dressed in rather nice kosode. It was solid color, but the material was quality cotton, and her obi had delicate embroidery around the borders. The healer’s wife, perhaps? 

“Hello,” she said, inclining her head. “Do come in.” 

The woman bustled around, serving them tea and doing all the other expected domestic niceties. In the corner was a young man stitching up a deep gash on a sniffling child. Usaku obliquely stepped to the left, hiding them from Natsuki’s view. Was that the healer? He seemed rather young, barely out of an apprenticeship, especially to have a wife a half-dozen years older. Perhaps he was the apprentice, and the master healer was out and about. 

Usaku took the tea, and he sipped, resigned to have the dredges of soggy leaves that these places considered quality. He stopped at the first mouthful. 

“This is good!” he said out loud, immediately embarrassed at his lack of decorum. But it was. The tea was a sweet oolong, with a delicate green edge. It was at least on par with the tea he normally drank. 

“I’m glad,” said the woman, still smiling. “It’s Hyuuga-san’s favorite, if I recall correctly.” 

The ninja nodded. “I am honored that you remember.” 

Usaku was shocked to hear the deference in the killer’s voice, and he tried to cover it up with another sip. Natsuki tilted her head, hands delicately clasped around the cup. Honestly, the quality of the tea set was at least as good as the one they used at home. Was the woman trying to impress them with the finest they had? His sister had also noticed the ninja’s reaction, but she was also too curious for her own good. 

“You know Hyuuga-san?” she asked slyly. 

The ninja answered for her. “I have had the pleasure of meeting Yui-san.” 

Only one name, then? That wasn’t unusual for peasants, and Usaku doubted that Hyuuga would be improper enough to be familiar with another man’s wife. Before she could reply, the healer apprentice finished his task, and the kid ran forward, shyly hugged Yui’s leg, and scampered away.

Yui smiled and shook her head. 

She truly must be a cornerstone for her husband, Usaku thought. Though nothing beautiful–especially with that sun-darkened skin–Yui seemed like a competent manager of the household, enough to command affection from children and respect from ninja. Of course, the latter was likely more out of respect for her husband… Usaku really wanted to meet that man. Yui was asking after an old injury of the Hyuuga’s, so he turned to the apprentice rather than interrupt them.

“When will your master return, boy?” 

The young man paused in washing his hands. (Usaku had been introduced to him, but the name had slipped from his memory.) “My… master?” he said, confused, looking to Yui. 

“Yes,” he said, impatient. The boy continued to blink. Thankfully, there was a lull in the conversation, so Usaku returned his attention to Yui rather than waste anymore time. “Madam, when will your husband return? I wanted to ask him about a salve for sprains, and perhaps discuss business.” 

Yui looked just as surprised, and he revised his estimate of her utility. “I’m not married,” she said dumbly. 

Heavens. She wasn’t a kept woman, was she? No, her clothing didn’t suggest that, and he felt a little guilty for entertaining the thought. Yui was an unmarried relation, then, perhaps a sister, niece, or cousin to help manage the bachelor’s affairs–and procure a match with his contacts.

“The master healer,” he said more gently. Yui wasn’t that old. She still had a chance, though the match wouldn’t be so strong. “When will he return?” 

Yui raised a hand to cover her mouth, and Usaku worried at first that some tragedy had happened–had he passed away?–but he realized that she was actually hiding a smile. The apprentice openly laughed, and the Hyuuga was glaring at him, mortified. (It was frankly terrifying, seeing such a display of emotion from him, especially with those eerie blank eyes.)

Usaku looked at his sister, bewildered, and was glad to see she looked as confused as him.

After a moment, Yui lowered her hand. “I’m the healer,” she said, voice steady. 

“You’re _what_!?” He barely avoided dribbling his tea. 

“Oh!” said Natsuki, setting her tea down, eyes gleaming in a way that made Usaku nervous. “You’re the healer? You’re not an assistant?”

“This is my clinic,” she confirmed. “Eiji’s my apprentice.”

“I–But–” Usaku blinked at her. He’d been caught off guard; the place seemed so civilized, but it held tighter to rural sensibilities than expected. “Why? Are you not wealthy enough to be married?” 

She certainly seemed so; Usaku noted silk hangings that could only come from Lightning country. That should fetch a decent price for a peasant’s wedding. 

“I enjoy my work,” Yui said firmly. “I work not because I have to, but because I want to.” 

“I apologize for my client,” the Hyuuga said suddenly, stiffly. “I did not realize he had made such an assumption. He is from the northeastern part of Fire Country, and they are rather isolated.”

Was… was the ninja making _excuses_ for him? Was he apologizing like Usaku was some rural country bumpkin!? The nerve of him!

Her apprentice snorted. “Sensei, perhaps I should serve the tea next time. Maybe these out-of-towners would stop assuming then.” Eiji gave him a derisive look, and Usaku puffed up further. “At least he wasn’t as bad as the man who thought you were my servant.”

Usaku wanted to give them both a piece of his mind, but Natsuki kept him from doing even that. 

“It must be quite interesting to work,” she said, beaming. It was an admirable attempt to smooth over his impropriety, but he didn’t quite like that she had more than polite curiosity in the way she phrased it. “How were you educated as a healer?”

Usaku fumed, keeping his mouth shut, as Yui shared fanciful ideas with his sister. She consorted with ninja, alone! And healed strange men with no thought to privacy! Uncouth, truly uncouth. No wonder she wasn’t married. Usaku would have stormed out, but the Hyuuga kept glancing at him, and he thought better of it. He didn’t bother to ask for salves or open talks for business, not with that woman, not after how he’d been treated. He kept to icy formality and took the soonest opportunity to leave. 

After as short of a stay they could manage, Usaku and the caravan set off again. 

“Heavens, I am glad to be out of that provincial town!” he announced. 

Natsuki didn’t respond. Instead, she looked back to the Chiyuku, an odd look in her eye.

“Hyuuga-san, how far is Chiyuku from Lord Hirohota’s estate?” she asked. 

The ninja smiled. “Two week’s trip by caravan, my lady. Lord Hirohota’s liege, Lord Fukuyama, strongly favors Chiyuku and Healer Yui. She saved the young heir’s life.”

Usaku’s stomach dropped. 

“Did she?” said Natsuki, sounding delighted. 

“Indeed. Lord Hirohota’s estate has begun to invest in Chiyuku’s construction; the lord sent his architect on Lord Fukuyama’s request. I think you may meet Healer Yui again.”

“Hyuuga,” said Usaku sharply. “We did not ask for your input.” 

The ninja tilted his head and fell silent. But when Natsuki looked out the window again, she was smiling.


	6. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU/What-If? I wrote/co-wrote with Iaso due to brainstorming on Discord. Yui dies. These are some possible consequences. The original document is on the Discord server (discord.gg/wNncyM4).

Yui stands in flowers.

When mountains shatter and roots grow in rivers of blood, Hashirama will think of her then—Yui stands in flowers. 

She turns back to smile, a rare, gentle thing, and her hand reaches up to brush away the strands of hair pressed to her cheek.

It happens. 

She stumbles.

He isn’t fast enough to stop the katana. He is only fast enough to catch Yui as she falls, only fast enough to kill the man who did it, only fast enough to count her breaths and heartbeats. His healing is not enough. Hashirama has enough chakra to tear the earth in two, yet—it’s not enough.

“Hashirama,” she whispers. Her breaths are labored. Blood has already filled her lungs. “I’m not scared. Please…”

And she exhales. But she doesn't inhale, not this time.

Gently, Hashirama brushes aside those strands of hair from her cheek. He slides her out of his arms, and down onto the flowers. The katana lodged in her midsection falls to the ground beside her.

He stands up. He raises his head to the sky, the empty expanse, not a single cloud in sight. And he screams.

It's a bitter, animalistic thing, wrought with agony that sings with the earth beneath his feet. He calls and the trees answer, and soon, where once nothing stood, is a mighty forest, with the body of Yui at its heart.

* * *

Madara knows the man who was once his friend—his brother. That man does not stand in front of him today.

What always defined Hashirama was mercy. The world was always at his mercy, but he has always given it. In this man's eyes is its utter absence.

This man will give nothing.

“Hashirama,” Madara says.

He doesn’t speak. He kneels in this forest, but this is momentary stillness. Hashirama has cut across the land, inexorable, and where he steps, death grows. Cities fall. Bones hang from the tree as white fruit.

“Hashirama,” Madara says. 

Flowers are woven into his hair. Flowers bloom from his fingers. But red petals splash across his cheek, dried and crushed. The forest is quiet. No birds sing, no squirrels chatter. Snakes don’t slither in the undergrowth, ants don’t march across the leaves.

“Hashirama,” Madara says again, and finally he sees him.

“Madara.” He speaks, but not with his voice. It’s the rustle of branches, of scraping bark, of rotting leaves.

“You must stop this.”

He doesn’t answer, but the trees do. They shudder, and thunder roars through the empty sky. 

“Yui would rather die a hundred times than see this happen in her name.”

Madara has little certainties in life, but this is one. She had stared him down—a murderer—and taken his hand. She had taken his knife, had healed him and asked for peace, and Yui had died for it. She had died for a pointless war, a war that had only come to her doorstep because she was kind.

Madara knows, and he has seen Hashirama turn her life’s work into a mass grave.

“Yui is dead,” says the forest. “They are not.”

Madara could burn the world to ashes. But Hashirama would make it bloom.

* * *

They fight until mountains shatter and the trees drink rivers of blood. For every tree Madara burns, Hashirama grows a thousand. The Forest of the End, they will call it. The trees will stand for a thousand years, far beyond the memory of their creation. 

They fight until mountains shatter, and Madara falls.

Hashirama stays his hand. He has no mercy to give, but he has its memory.

“Kill me,” Madara says. He kneels. His eyes weep blood. “Kill me in the name of your vengeance, in Yui’s name, and kill any chance of peace.”

The forest is still. 

“I cannot kill you,” says Hashirama. He kneels in flowers, next to the broken man who was once his friend, who was once his brother. “But I cannot see a world with peace.” The world of his dreams, where children were spared from war, has been buried with her.

“And I cannot see.” Madara grasps Hashirama’s hand. “You will have to show me.”

Hashirama doesn’t let go.

When he closes his eyes, Yui stands in flowers.


End file.
